


An Operatic Tale

by gingerwhovianrobotskeleton



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-20
Updated: 2015-01-20
Packaged: 2018-03-08 07:41:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,647
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3201008
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gingerwhovianrobotskeleton/pseuds/gingerwhovianrobotskeleton
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>[Phantom of the Opera AU] Isabelle Daaé is a ballerina of the famous Opera Populaire. While she loves stories as much as anyone, she doesn’t believe in the stories of the Opera Ghost the other girls talk about. That is, until her dear friend Mary Margaret finds herself in his deadly clutches. She strikes a deal and takes the other girl’s place as his prisoner.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Overture

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't seen much fic for this AU, and I've been wanting to write one. I saw a fic in a different fandom with the same concept, and I thought it would be perfect for Rumbelle. Hope you all enjoy!

_Paris 1909_

“Lot 664,” the auctioneer continued on as a finely dressed man walked onto the stage with a golden elephant. “An Indian elephant painted in rich gold, a prop from the opera Hannibal. Still in good condition. Bidding shall start at one-hundred francs.”

Henry watched as various hands went up in the air, and listened to the auctioneer raise the price with each hand he saw. He paid no attention to them, nor was he interested in the artifact in question.

The smell of dirt and dust was present and almost hard to ignore. Mother Nature has not been kind to the old opera house over the last thirty-eight years. Only recently anyone bothered to care for it and restore the historical site to its former glory. The first thing Henry noticed when he walked in were white sheets covering most of the statues and furniture, along with something large behind the auctioneer’s podium.

The second thing was the carpet beneath his shoes. Once a brilliant red, now a sick shade of brown thanks to water damage and mold. He remember when he used to sneak into the lobby as a kid, once the patrons had left and the stage hands had long gone to bed. He used to pretend he was a valiant prince living in a giant castle, fighting the dragons and saving the princesses from his storybooks. He felt sad that his formal castle was reduced to tarnished ruins.

The room he stood in was vast, but not many people had shown up for the auction. The way the flyer was decorated, with fancy script and all, you’d think it’d be a grand affair. When he showed his aging mother the flyer, she laughed and commented that everyone must think it’s still haunted.

The auctioneer banged his gavel, bringing the man back to attention. “Sold, to the Baroness Mills,” he said as his assistant handed the golden elephant to a young woman with dark hair wearing a brown fur coat. She reminded Henry of someone he knew from a long time ago, but he couldn’t place where.

His attention switched quickly as he saw the other assistant walk on the stage with a small box decorated with gold trimmings. Could it be what he thought it was?

“Lot 665,” the auctioneer started again, “a music box with a painting of an angel playing a harp on top. Found in the old catacombs of the opera house. Still in working order.”

To prove his point, the assistant on the stage opened the lid, and music came out. Henry recognized the melody instantly. His grandparents used to sing it to each other when he was younger. When the music started to repeat itself, the assistant closed the lid.

“Do I hear 50 francs?”

Henry immediately put his hand up, the auctioneer then begged for a higher price. Surprisingly, no one else seemed interested in it, not even the woman who bought the elephant. There was a long pause before the auctioneer banged his gavel.

“Sold for 50 francs, to Mr. Henry Humbert. Thank you, sir.”

The assistant quickly walked towards him, exchanging the money for the box. As he walked away, Henry admired the piece before him. He could quickly see why no one else placed a bid for it. The gold trimming still shined, but he noted the little spots of brass peeking out around the edges, and the black velvet covering still had smudges on it from the exposure in the ruined catacombs. The photo of the angel playing the harp was fading in the corners, but it still looked as beautiful as the day he first saw it.

 _She’s going to love this_ , he thought with assurance.

“Lot 666,” the auctioneer began again. “The famous chandelier from the 1871 disaster. I’m sure many of you have heard the tale of the Phantom of the Opera.”

Henry looked up instantly at those words. Many of the people around him began to whisper. Obviously, everyone _was_ familiar with the story.

“The details remain a mystery still. So many lives lost that night,” he shook his head solemnly. “The chandelier has been restored and rewired with the new electric lighting. Maybe we can scare away the ghosts of the past, and shed a little light on what really happened all those years ago.”

He turned and made a gesture towards the other assistants circling the giant obstruction behind him. With one swift movement, the sheet was pulled back to reveal the chandelier, causing a gust of wind to fly towards the guests. Henry pulled his arm over his face, blocking the dust that flew towards him. The room got brighter behind his eyelids and he could hear the creaking of the chains being dragged and pulled through the metal loops.

He opened his eyes to watch the chandelier being pulled higher and higher until it reached the ceiling. The lighting made the old room look more garish than before, showing the cobwebs and mold that had gathered over the years. But no one seemed to care. Everyone just stared in awe at the brilliant chandelier.

Gazing at the chandelier, Henry experienced a sense of déjà vu. It felt as if only yesterday he was a young boy adventuring the old opera house, reading stories with his mother, sword fighting with his uncle, and listening to his grandmother sing just like the angel on the music box…


	2. Meeting the Vicomte

_Paris 1869_

Isabelle Daaé lit the small candle before she seated herself on the floor, her long night gown the only thing protecting her knees from the cold concrete. No one but her ever trespassed what used to be the instrument storage area, which she managed to make her own private area with help from Madame Lucas. Here was where she built a shrine to her father. She would come here every morning before the rest of the girls woke up to pay her respects.

She placed the candle next to the framed photograph of Maurice Daaé, illuminating his round face which faced away from the front of the photo. It was coming on nine years since her father passed away from a fatal illness. Seeing him in bed, so weak and frail was an image she couldn't get out of her head no matter how hard she tried. The nurses did their best to make sure his daughter didn't see him the way he was, but the stubborn child would always find a way to get around them. Sometimes she wished she wasn't so stubborn.

She quickly bowed her head and closed her eyes, and said a silent prayer for her father. She thought of the times when she was a little girl, before Maurice got sick. He was an excellent violin player, and used to perform for the Opera Populaire. When he wasn't rehearsing at the opera house, he would play some of the songs at their cottage in the country side. She would sing along to help him out, and he always commented how beautiful her voice was. He was such a valued person at the Opera Populaire, so much so that the patrons took her in after his passing. She stayed with the other ballerinas and chorus girls that lived there, and the instructor Madame Lucas looked after her just as she did with her granddaughter Ruby and the other girls. She became like a mother to her, since Isabelle lost hers the day she was born.

A song suddenly came to her mind, and she began to sing it. It was the lullaby her father used to play for her. It always gave her comfort when she began thinking about her father. She sang with a low voice so no one could hear, but it still echoed back at her. She took comfort in the melody and the words they promised.

She stopped when she heard the sounds of a piano being played. It was coming from a vent above her head. She then finally noticed the sunlight streaming through the tiny window by the tiny ceiling.

"Oh no, I'm late!" She blew out the candle and rushed out of the room as quickly as possible.

She was glad to be out of the cold corridor and be backstage where it was warm. She slinked by the other stagehands who were moving set pieces, keeping close to the walls so as not to run into any of them. Once she made it to the exit, she resumed her fast walking and made it to the wooden staircase leading to the ballet dorms. The girls were all awake and getting into their first costumes.

She tried to avoid their looks as she went to her bed in the far corner. She noticed her costume was already on her bed.

"Don't worry, Belle," a voice whispered to her. "I told Madame Lucas you were still asleep."

Belle turned her head to see Mary Margaret sit on her bed, trying to pin her dark hair up. "I appreciate it, but you didn't have to go to all that trouble."

The other girl brushed it off. "It was nothing. I think Madame just overreacts sometimes."

Belle didn't say a word as she slipped on her outfit.

_Paris 1870_

Isabelle Daaé lit the small candle before she seated herself on the floor, her long night gown the only thing protecting her knees from the cold concrete. No one but her ever trespassed what used to be the instrument storage area, which she managed to make her own private area with help from Madame Lucas. Here was where she built a shrine to her father. She would come here every morning before the rest of the girls woke up to pay her respects.

She placed the candle next to the framed photograph of Maurice Daaé, illuminating his round face which faced away from the front of the photo. It was coming on nine years since her father passed away from a fatal illness. Seeing him in bed, so weak and frail was an image she couldn't get out of her head no matter how hard she tried. The nurses did their best to make sure his daughter didn't see him the way he was, but the stubborn child would always find a way to get around them. Sometimes she wished she wasn't so stubborn.

She quickly bowed her head and closed her eyes, and said a silent prayer for her father. She thought of the times when she was a little girl, before Maurice got sick. He was an excellent violin player, and used to perform for the Opera Populaire. When he wasn't rehearsing at the opera house, he would play some of the songs at their cottage in the country side. She would sing along to help him out, and he always commented how beautiful her voice was. He was such a valued person at the Opera Populaire, so much so that the patrons took her in after his passing. She stayed with the other ballerinas and chorus girls that lived there, and the instructor Madame Lucas looked after her just as she did with her granddaughter Ruby and the other girls. She became like a mother to her, since Isabelle lost hers the day she was born.

A song suddenly came to her mind, and she began to sing it. It was the lullaby her father used to play for her. It always gave her comfort when she began thinking about her father. She sang with a low voice so no one could hear, but it still echoed back at her. She took comfort in the melody and the words they promised.

She stopped when she heard the sounds of a piano being played. It was coming from a vent above her head. She then finally noticed the sunlight streaming through the tiny window by the tiny ceiling.

"Oh no, I'm late!" She blew out the candle and rushed out of the room as quickly as possible.

She was glad to be out of the cold corridor and be backstage where it was warm. She slinked by the other stagehands who were moving set pieces, keeping close to the walls so as not to run into any of them. Once she made it to the exit, she resumed her fast walking and made it to the wooden staircase leading to the ballet dorms. The girls were all awake and getting into their first costumes.

She tried to avoid their looks as she went to her bed in the far corner. She noticed her costume was already on her bed.

"Don't worry, Belle," a voice whispered to her. "I told Madame Lucas you were still asleep."

Belle turned her head to see Mary Margaret sit on her bed, trying to pin her dark hair up. "I appreciate it, but you didn't have to go to all that trouble."

The other girl brushed it off. "It was nothing. I think Madame just overreacts sometimes."

Belle didn't say a word as she slipped on her outfit. It was true Madame Lucas was very overprotective of the girls, but she didn’t think her reasons for being so were unfound. A few of the stagehands tended to get friendly with them.

“So,” Mary Margaret spoke up again, a sneaky smile on her face. “Where did you go this morning?”

“The chapel area to say my morning prayers,” Belle replied. It wasn’t a lie.

“Or is that what you _want_ us to think?” a voice behind her said.

Belle nearly jumped out of her tights from fright. She turned around to see another girl with black hair with a big grin on her face. “Ruby, can’t you warn somebody before you sneak up behind them?” the brunette scolded, taking a few calming breaths.

Ruby shrugged. “I can’t help it if you’re easy to scare.” She then sat on the bed next to Mary Margaret.

Ruby was the granddaughter of Madame Lucas. She lived with her grandmother for as long as she could remember, never knowing who her birth parents were. She and Mary Margaret became her closest friends when she arrived at the opera house. She used to think they were sisters because they looked so similar, but Mary Margaret was from a wealthy family who owned a vast amount of land in France. When she was little, her father sent her to the opera house so she could achieve her dreams of becoming a dancer.

When she first met Mary Margaret, she was surprised by how kind and warm hearted she was compared to other rich kids she had met before. Ruby was the same way, except where Mary Margaret was more guarded and was a follower of the rules, she had a more rebellious spirit about her. It would explain why her grandmother was so protective of everyone.

“But seriously,” Ruby began, “Just between us three. Where were you?”

Belle shook her head. “Exactly as I said.”

The other girl pouted. “You’re no fun.”

“Not everyone sneaks off with stagehands like you do,” Mary Margaret teased, adjusting her tiara.

Ruby scoffed at her. “Excuse me, I’m only seeing _one_ stagehand, and we have are very much in love with each other.”

“Has the two of you announced your courtship to your grandmother yet?” asked Belle.

“No, she frowned, then quickly said, “He’s waiting for the right moment. You how intimidating grandmother can be.”

The other two did not argue this as they finished getting ready. By the time Belle had her ballet shoes on, one of the stagehands shouted “Places!” from the bottom of the staircase. All the girls quickly filed down to get to their designated spots. Belle and her friends were the last ones down the staircase as they rushed past everyone to get to stage left where their first entrance was.

Once she was where she needed to be, Belle began to take her stretches, listening to all of the noise around her. The stagehands were putting all of the props and set pieces into place for the first act, the musicians were tuning up their instruments in the orchestra pit, and most of the people talked amongst themselves. Mostly gossip of course, but Belle let it go over her head and tried to concentrate on the instruments instead. To say she loved music was an understatement. Whenever she listened to her father play the violin, or even listening to their composer Archibald tuning the instruments, she was in another world. She started to feel calm and at peace with everything. Until…

“May I have your attention please?”

Belle looked up to see the two managers of the opera house enter the center of the stage. Messieurs’ George and Sidney became the managers of the Opera Populaire roughly two years before hand when the previous manager, Messieurs Marco Geppetto, retired to Austria. Belle never spent time with them, but from what she knew of them, they didn’t seem to know much about the arts and only seemed to care about money.

The rest of the dancers, actors, and stagehands gathered around the stage. The musicians stopped tuning their instruments and gave the managers their full attention.

Messieurs George, a light skinned man with balding hair and a permanent frown on his face stepped forward. “Before we start our morning rehearsal, I wanted to make an announcement to all of you. We have a new patron to represent the Opera Populaire.” He then stepped aside as another man walked onto the stage.

“Ladies and gentlemen, the Vicomte Jones,” announced Messieurs Sidney.

Everyone applauded as the young man bowed his head. Two of the ballerinas next to Belle began to whisper about how handsome he was.

“Thank you, messieurs’,” said the Vicomte, and then turned to the rest of the company. “My late parents were big supporters of the arts, especially of the Opera Populaire. I look forward to seeing what all you have prepared for in tonight’s production.”

Everyone else applauded once more. The managers then took the Vicomte around the stage to introduce him to some of the top personnel of the opera house. Everyone else resumed to their normal places to prepare for rehearsal.

“That’s very fortunate,” Mary Margaret commented as she started her stretches, “to have someone as wealthy as the Vicomte Jones supporting our theatre.”

“It is,” Belle had to agree. “We could get more instruments for the musicians, or lucrative set pieces.”

By this point, Ruby had shifted from the other side of the stage to join them in their conversation. She started stretching as well. “I heard from one of the managers that they were thinking of using the money to buy a new chandelier.”

At this, Belle looked up to the ceiling where the chandelier they had was high up toward the ceiling. “What’s wrong with the one we have now?” she asked.

“Something about keeping up-to-date with modern lighting techniques,” she said as she leaned to her left, stretching her arm over her head. From her spot on the floor, Belle could see her friend waving at someone across the stage. She turned to see Victor, a blonde stagehand wave back at her from the ropes where the curtain controls were. “What do you think of our new patron?” Ruby asked.

Belle was surprised by the quick change of subject. “I’m sorry?”

“Don’t you think he’s handsome?” she rephrased. “I mean, he’s not as dashing as Victor, but he comes very close.”

Mary Margaret gave a small nod. “I agree with you.”

The brunette turned her attention to the Vicomte who was being introduced to Daniel, the lead tenor, and Madame Lucas. The Vicomte looked roughly older than she did, with short dark hair and a well groomed moustache. He dressed in a fine brown suit with maroon trimming down the front. From first glance, Belle had to admit he looked good compared to society’s definition of beauty.

Belle said to her friend, “He’s alright I guess.”

“You _guess_?” Ruby asked incredulous.

Before Belle could give her defense, the sound of a door slamming echoed through the auditorium, silencing everyone in the room, followed by a loud female voice.

“Of all the atrocities in all of France! I had to get stuck with a no good, lousy…”

The voice trailed off into a different language, no doubt full of swears. Belle, Mary Margaret, Ruby, and everyone else occupying stage left quickly cleared a path as their lead soprano, La Regina, stomped past them in her opening costume, which was similar to the green and red striped bodice the ballerinas’ wore. But while the ballerinas’ skirts were mostly gold tassels with matching beads tied to the end, La Regina’s skirt was a bright gold with a cage underneath to make it look bigger. She immediately stopped in front of the managers, who looked frightened by the sight of her.

“Ah, Mademoiselle!” Messieurs Sidney quickly said, plastering an admiring smile on his face. “You look absolutely stunning! Of course, we expect no less from our-”

“I want her gone!” La Regina interrupted, pointing in the direction of where she entered. “That seamstress messed up the hat I’m supposed to wear for the opening number, and the dress I am wearing is all wrong! I look like a Christmas ornament!”

“But mademoiselle,” Messieurs Archibald, the composer, interjected as he rushed to the stage, “your dress is supposed to be like this. It matches the other dancers’ costumes.”

“Exactly!” La Regina scolded. “I match the dancers when I should be wearing something COMPLETELY different so I can standout!”

At this, the seamstress walked past Belle with timid steps to get to the others at the center of the stage, the hat tight in her hands. “I’m sorry, La Regina,” she said, her usually bright voice was shaking. “The fabric around didn’t stretch as well as I had hoped-”

She quickly turned on her. “I am sick of your excuses! I was told you were a professional, Miss Astrid. But clearly,” she ripped the hat out of her hands, “You know nothing!”

Astrid instinctively wrapped her arms around her chest, closing her eyes as La Regina continued to berate her. Everyone else just stood there, too afraid to get in the mix. Belle, however, had lost her nerve.

“Stop it,” Belle said suddenly, keeping her voice level as she walked to the center of the stage, and wrapped an arm around Astrid’s shoulders. “I beg your pardon, Mademoiselle,” she began, “but yelling at someone won’t make anything better. If you would please give her some time, she’ll have your hat ready by tonight’s production.”

She could feel everyone’s nervous gaze on her, waiting for the diva’s response. La Regina glared at the girl, clenching her fist at her side. Before she could do anything, the Vicomte rushed to her side, placing a calming hand on her shoulder which made her turn her head suddenly to him.

“If I may, Mademoiselle,” the man began, “perhaps the stresses of opening night have seem to taken its effect on the seamstress? I understand your rehearsals between opera do not leave enough time for rest in between?”

The Vicomte then shot a look at the managers, who quickly recovered from their frozen stance and rushed to his side. “Of course,” said Messieurs Sidney. “Miss Astrid is responsible for most of the construction of the costumes in the productions. Not to mention you’ve been about promoting the new show, she hasn’t had much time to measure you properly.”

“But of course, it’s not your fault,” Messieurs George added. “You’re the most sought out performer in all of France- perhaps Europe even! We are just so blessed to have you involved in our productions!”

A few voices in the room gave their agreements, even though most of them were false. Astrid was even tempted to nod her head a little. At this, La Regina’s features softened and she gave an adoring smile. “Thank you all. I must apologize to my managers, and our Vicomte. We must get to work immediately!” She then begin walking towards stage left once more. “Astrid! Come so we can get the _right_ measurements.”

Astrid whispered a grateful “thank you” to Belle before following the soprano off stage.

“Alright, everyone,” Messieurs George said irritably, “show’s over. Let’s resume to what we were doing before.”

Everyone did just that, almost happy to have La Regina out of sight. The auditorium filled with chatter once more. Belle was about to turn and go back to her spot when the Vicomte grabbed her hand.

“I thank you for your help, miss…”

“Daaé,” Belle responded politely. “And you should probably be the one receiving thanks.”

The man quickly shook his head, a playful smile on his lips. “Nonsense! Not everyone is brave enough to face the great La Regina.”

Belle didn’t know how to respond to that. The man’s ice blue eyes gazed at her intently. She felt a chill creep through her, but paid no heed to it. “It was very nice to meet you, Vicomte Jones,” she said quickly, shaking the hand that held hers. “Welcome to the Opera Populaire.”

“Why thank you, Miss Daaé,” he said sweetly, placing a kiss on her hand. “And please, call me Killian.”

He gave her a quick wink before he let go of her hand and walked back to the managers. Belle quickly went back to her spot backstage. As expected, Ruby and Mary Margaret were there with huge grins on their faces.

“Belle, that was amazing!” Mary Margaret hugged her friend. “I don’t think I’ve seen anyone ever stand up to La Regina like that!”

“Forget Regina,” Ruby said, “What about the Vicomte? He was obviously attracted to you!”

Belle was quick to dismiss their comments. “It was nothing, honestly. Let’s just get back to rehearsal.”

The other girls shrugged, following Belle’s lead and worked on their steps and turns. “Looks like we won’t be able to start our run through for another hour,” Mary Margaret commented, “Thanks to our leading soprano.”

“If you ask me, the reason her hat is too small is because her head keeps growing to match her ego,” Ruby joked.

Belle let their teasing fade into the background as she worked on her pointes. She let her gaze wander to the others filing around backstage. Quickly, her eyes fell upon Graham, one of the stagehands. He was having a conversation with Madame Lucas, who seemed to be angry. She had what looked like a piece of paper clenched in her fist. The whole time, Graham seemed to be calm, but it wasn’t enough for the ballet instructor who quickly stalked off into the other direction.

Belle let her gaze stay on Madame Lucas as she walked towards a wooden door near the corner of the room, the words “DO NOT ENTER” scrawled on the front with red paint. She looked around her before she opened the door and closed it behind her. Belle had seen that door for years, but never has anyone gone through it. A lot of the stagehands claimed it led to the basement of the opera house, which was haunted by a fearsome ghost- the Phantom they call him. Belle never believed the rumors. Knowing the stagehands, she always assumed it was a secret room the boys built so they could peep on the other girls who would change costumes between scene changes.

Madame Lucas found one of the peepholes in the girl’s room one time and smacked a stagehand over the head, even using her own threats from the _Phantom_ to scare them away from the other girls. Belle quickly shook her head, clearing any thoughts of phantoms and the like from her imagination.

“Maybe she has a secret sanctuary like I do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you guys liked it! I tried to get the Phantom into this chapter, but it didn't work out. He'll be in the next one though :D


End file.
